


Stupid

by shadowsamurai



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows he won't turn up. He can't, he's... She swallows, her breath shaky as she thinks about the injustice of it all. And the stupidity. Definitely the stupidity. Of course, everyone else called it 'heroism'; to her, because it was him, it was the same thing as being stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stupid

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

CA-CA-CA-CA-CA-CA

She sits in the club, her best (her only) red dress on. She knows he likes the dress. She can see his expression when he sees her wearing it. She knows he'll approve, even though he has never said so...even though he probably never will. It's stupid, she knows, to be sat there, at that time, on that day, in that place, just like they had arranged...just as she knew it was stupid when they were arranging it. But she had to say something to him, had to reach out to him when he was about to throw his life away in such a stupidly heroic fashion. Stupid. It had been so stupid then, it was still stupid now...

She wipes her face delicately, brushing away the single tear was rolling down her cheek. She has already turned down several offers to dance that evening, saying she was waiting for someone. Which is true, but the chances of him showing... And now, she doesn't need anyone coming over offering their concern, pity, or shoulder to cry on. She doesn't need it, any of it, or them. Just him, and only him.

The appointed time has been and gone, long past now, in fact, but she still waits, hoping to see him striding through the doors, straight towards her. Imagining it that way. Wanting it to be that way. Though she knows it won't happen. She knows he won't turn up. He can't, he's... She swallows, her breath shaky as she thinks about the injustice of it all. And the stupidity. Definitely the stupidity. Of course, everyone else called it 'heroism'; to her, because it was him, it was the same thing as being stupid.

A glance at the clock on the wall tells her he really isn't coming. He may not have known much about women, but he was certainly punctual, and being over an hour late was not his style. No, she realises – more finally admits to herself – that she will never see him again. All she has is her memories, and a bunch of newspaper clippings, and some newsreel. In fact, she has a lot to remind her of him, but it isn't the same as having the man himself in her life.

CA-CA-CA-CA-CA-CA

He pauses at the door of the club, checks his shirt is straight and pulls at his tie. He's not quite sure why he's nervous, uncomfortable with the idea of going into the place. Certainly he doesn't visit these sorts of establishments very often, but even so... No, he knows the real reason behind his unease, he just has trouble admitting it, even to himself. As for her... He can see the look on her face already, the tone of voice she'll use with him. Professional, unconcerned. He knows it too well. But he remembers the sound of her voice as the plane went down, remembers the struggle within her during the following days as she fought to stay focused, fought to stay in control.

And now, actually within the walls of the club, seeing her profile, seeing the shine of a single tear glistening on her cheek, he wonders if he has the right to remove that last shred of self-control from her. He knows she needs to grieve, knows it too damned well, but he doesn't know if he's the right person for the job or not. But as he starts to walk towards her, he realises there simply isn't anyone else.

He grunts, feeling that a sad commentary in and of itself. But – and he would never admit this to anyone or allow anyone to suggest such a thing – he cares. He knows she didn't get to where she is by being soft; he knows she's tough, he's seen her in action. But she's still a woman...a woman who has lost someone close to her. And even tough women need someone to lean on occasionally. Hell, tough *anybody* needs someone to lean on at times. Taking a deep breath, and checking his shirt and tie are tidy once more, he continues his journey to her.

CA-CA-CA-CA-CA-CA

She's vaguely aware of someone stood just behind her, to the left, and she starts to stiffen. For a while no one has come near her, her vocal dismissals nowhere near as effective as her silent ones. Why waste words when one's posture and body language will do the job just as well? But this person has just invaded her personal space without a second thought and is oblivious to the signals she is sending off, which makes her irritation grow. But then an impossible possibility creeps into her mind. What if...? She shakes her head slightly. No. It isn't possible.

"I am waiting for someone," she says.

He takes a deep breath. "I know you are."

She freezes. It's a voice she would recognise anywhere, having worked with him for so long now. A voice that always sounds as though it hasn't been used for a very long time...rough and tough, like the man who owns it. Though even if it had been smooth as silk, the accent was unmistakable.

Immediately she stands, and stands to attention. "Colonel."

Phillips studies the woman before him and sighs. "Carter, you don't stand to attention in a dress. It looks stupid. Now sit down," he orders.

Peggy stares at him for a moment, wondering what fresh hell has brought him to the club, wondering how he knew where she would be, and wondering what he thinks of the missing Captain now. Then slowly, uncertainly, she sits down. Phillips looks down at her for a moment, a reversal of their positions a few seconds earlier, before finally gesturing to the seat opposite.

"May I?"

His politeness catches Peggy off guard, as does the slightly absurdness of the question. "Of course, sir."

A waiter appears and Phillips orders a glass of whisky, Peggy a wine. They sit in silence, observing the dancing couples until their drinks arrive, and then after taking a sip, he turns to her. "Faith, Agent Carter?"

Her eyes widen slightly at his directness, though why it should bother her after all this time, she doesn't know. Perhaps because he is right, for a change. A brilliant soldier and commander he may be, but when it comes to understanding human beings, he is a serious dunce.

"I just...," Peggy starts to say, but words quickly fail her.

Surprisingly, his expression softens and he nods. "I know."

She smiles and fingers the rim of her glass. "It's stupid."

"A lot of things in life are stupid, Carter," Phillips replies. "You'll learn that as you go."

"I think I am already learning, sir," she says.

He just nods. "You spend most of your time with soldiers. We ain't the brightest bunch."

She smiles, not only because it's polite, but because she wants to. His directness is, for once, refreshing. "I have noticed that for myself on occasion, Colonel," Peggy replies, straight-faced, but her eyes are twinkling mischievously.

Phillips holds her gaze, his expression mock serious, before taking a sip of his drink again and looking away. "He was a good man."

"He was an idiot," she replies without thinking."

"Good men often are. Stupid to boot," he says. "Don't mean they ain't good, though, does it?"

She sighs, not sure she wants to talk about this. "No, sir. It doesn't."

Phillips looks at her out of the corner of his eye and can see she wants to say more, but isn't sure if she should or not. So he tries to make it easier for her. "Come on, Carter, spill. I didn't drag my ass all the way here for you to play clam."

Peggy sends him a disapproving look before turning her attention to the dancing couples as well. "I know he is dead," she starts quietly. "I know there is no chance of him appearing here tonight. But...I felt as though there was the smallest of chances a miracle would occur. He proved everyone wrong on so many occasions, why not this one too?"

"Faith?" he asks again, though with less of an edge than before.

She just nods. "But it's stupid. No one is that lucky for that long."

Phillips stares off into the distance. "He may surprise you; he may come back."

Now she turns to him fully, and waits for him to face her. And she is surprised to see the compassion held in his expression, which he quickly hides. But not quickly enough, leaving her to wonder if it was deliberate or not.

"Do you honestly believe that, sir?" Peggy asks him, her tone and expression intent.

He sighs. "I don't know, Carter. I never thought the kid could do it in the first place, always thought Erskine was this side of crazy for choosing him. Never thought he could bring those men back either, but he did. I was stupid then, maybe I'm stupid now, but I don't mind taking a leap of faith just this once."

"We made a date to come here, so I could teach him to dance," Peggy says, turning away slightly.

"I know," Phillips admits. "I stayed, until communications with Rogers was lost. So you wouldn't be alone."

She doesn't know how to take that statement, the brutal honesty behind it, so she doesn't say anything at all. They just sit and watch the dancing couples, thinking of a Captain no longer with them. "I barely knew him," Peggy murmurs eventually. "I think it's stupid to miss him so much."

Phillips sighs again, though this time in irritation, and it's much more the Colonel she's used to. "Carter, if you use the word 'stupid' one more time, I swear I gonna scream." His expression then changes again, so swiftly she's shocked by it. "Let's dance."

"Colonel? Sir? Pardon?" Peggy thinks she's hearing things; she's sure the next words out of Phillips' mouth will be 'Captain America is actually alive'.

"Dance, Carter. You know how to. It's what you came here for. And I am not going to sit on the sidelines like some geriatric fossil while all these youngsters stare at you with pity. You don't need that. No pity, no concern, and no tears. Just..." He trails off and shrugs a little, but she understands.

It's like she's in a dream; she isn't entirely positive the man in front of her is the same one she has been working with, but she has noted this softer side in very brief glimpses on rare occasions. And he isn't breaking any rules; she isn't Army. That was too much like wishful thinking, a woman in the Army too much like a miracle she will never see happening. And she knows there is nothing more implied in his offer than a dance. They are just two people who cared, in different ways, for the same man who gave his life to save the world. They both grieve, in different ways, to a greater or lesser degree, because he's no longer with them. And in that moment, the only thing they have is each other. And so, rightly or wrongly, she decides she's had enough of thinking and that it's time to just go with the moment.

"I would love to, Colonel. Thank you."

For a moment, Peggy is certain Phillips is about to bolt, his expression flickering as though he regrets asking, but then he stands and offers her his hand, which she accepts with only the smallest amounts of hesitation. They garner a few stares as they make their way to the floor, but no one is brave enough, or bothered enough, to make any comments; and it isn't him they're afraid of. Peggy takes a deep breath, feeling she should voice a small concern.

"I must tell you, Colonel, that I haven't done this for some time."

He smiles, and she's amazed at how the action transforms his face. "I'll bet it's been a lot more recent than the last time I did this," Phillips replies.

Peggy isn't sure what to expect when they start to move, but grace and light-footedness certainly isn't it. He would not have won any competitions or overly shamed any of the younger man, but Phillips was certainly a good dancer, helped by an older man's confidence.

"You've had a lot of offers to dance tonight," he says quietly. "Why not accept if you knew he wasn't coming?"

"Waiting for the right partner, sir," Peggy replies, lowering her gaze to his shoulder.

"Been and gone, Carter."

"Still..."

"Faith?"

"Or stupidity." She swallows her tears and glances up briefly, speaking again before he can tell her off. "And what about you, sir? If I may ask. Why do you not dance any more?"

"Oh. Waiting for the right partner," he replied, staring at a spot over her head.

"Did she ever appear?" Peggy asks.

For a while, Phillips is silent, and then he nods slowly. "Yeah, she did. But she went again too quickly. Tuberculosis. And then, with the Army... Never bothered looking for another dancing partner."

Suddenly realising they had more in common than she thought before, and needing a brief moment of physical comfort, she puts her arms around him and embraces him, holding on for a mere second before pulling back. Except she can't. He isn't letting her. And then she realises *this* is what she needed, someone to hold her and let her know it was okay to let go, and so she does. She starts to cry, not worrying about her make-up or the mess she's making on his shirt, or the scene they must present to the watching crowd. She's only vaguely aware that they're moving, the cold air outside coming as a surprise to her.

"Better?" Phillips asks after a while, handing her his handkerchief.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Peggy then glances at him. "Oh, Colonel, I am so sorry! Your..."

"Carter!" he says loudly, silencing her. "A new shirt I can get. But a new you... Who else would put the new recruits into line so quickly? Makes my job so much easier, I can tell you."

Peggy smiles. "Yes, sir. And...thank you. Really."

"I know." Phillips looks at his shirt, which is definitely ruined, and then back at her. "You gonna be okay now?"

"I think so. I just need my bag and to pay for the drinks..."

"Already sorted."

"... And then I'll go home. What?" she asks, only just registering he had spoken.

"It's sorted, Carter," Phillips replies, handing over her handbag.

As she takes the proffered item, she realises what he is suggesting he had managed while leading her out of the club. "How?"

"I'm not a Colonel in the Army and head of a special unit for nothing, you know." Then he bends his arm, offering her his elbow. "I'll walk you home."

"Chivalry, Colonel?" Peggy asks, amused and grateful at the same time.

"Hell no! I just don't want you to do anything stupid."

FIN


End file.
